


xxxmas

by buckgaybarnes



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: (that they bring upon themselves), Anal Sex, Awkward Sexual Situations, Butt Plugs, Dildos, Established Relationship, Failboats In Love, Flavored Lube, Fluff and Smut, Lingerie, M/M, Oral Sex, Restraints, Rimming, Sex Toys, Switching, don't be fooled this is about 60 percent comedic 40 percent actually horny, including (but in no means whatsoever limited to), tis the season baby!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 17:30:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17064044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckgaybarnes/pseuds/buckgaybarnes
Summary: “It can just be our non-denominational calendar that happens to have twenty-five days of sex toys, how about that?”Hermann holds out for all of ten seconds before sighing in defeat. “Fine,” he says. “I suppose we haven’t much else to do then, anyway.”





	xxxmas

**Author's Note:**

> nothing says holiday spirit like adult advent calendars. thank u anon on tumblr for sending me that ask about newt and hermann using one
> 
> takes place in that reality most of my post-canon fics take place in now where i don't even need to specify PRU don't interact, and they're just married and professors
> 
> there's not actually an advent calendar that has ALL of these things (as far as i know), but all of these products do actually come in Adult advent calendars--i basically read unboxing articles and meshed together the most fun-sounding shit in one. yes, i did about as much research for this fic as i did for the final paper i was writing alongside it. some of the package quotes i took directly from the lovehoney one? i think. anyway, go nuts!

“You spent three-hundred dollars,” Hermann says, “on sex toys.”

“Well, technically,” Newt says, slashing open the tape of his newly-arrived cardboard box with a pair of scissors, “it was forty-percent off for Cyber Monday. And it’s not just sex toys.” He pulls out a large, factory-sealed, holographic purple box, almost as big as his entire torso, divided up by small panels and numbers. “It’s—”

“An advent calendar?” Hermann says. (Technically, it's an adultadvent calendar.) Hermann narrows his eyes. “Newton. I’m aware _you’re_ not practicing anymore, but I—”

“Dude, I know, but listen, the Hanukkah one was only _eight_ things.” Newt taps the box. There are distinctly more than eight panels. “Twenty-five, Hermann. Twenty-five whole Things. That’s more than three times the Things.” Hermann still looks wary. Newt pushes on. “It can just be our non-denominational calendar that happens to have twenty-five days, how about that?”

Hermann holds out for all of ten seconds before sighing in defeat. “Fine,” he says. “I suppose we haven’t much else to do then, anyway.” They finish giving finals by the seventh this year and they’ve already, preemptively, had Hermann’s sister and Newt’s dad and uncle over for general holiday merrymaking, which means they can spend the rest of the month fucking to their hearts’ content without any distractions (save for an obligatory dinner or two, and, of course, the annual New Year's Eve  _Twilight Zone_ marathon, which they treat with the honor it deserves).

“Nice,” Newt says, happily. “Man, if you’re giving me a hard time about just this, I can’t imagine what you would’ve done if I ordered the Fifty Shades one.”

 

* * *

 

They spend the morning of December 1st eyeing up the calendar over breakfast. The holographic elephant in the room. 25 Naughty Treats, the packaging advertises. Hermann stirs his coffee contemplatively. “I suppose we better get it over with, haven’t we?” he says. “The sooner the better.”

“Don’t sound too excited about having sex with me,” Newt says, and he tears off the plastic wrap and pops open Day 1 to reveal— “Gummy panties,” he says, and tosses the package to Hermann. Hermann catches it only just before it lands on his toast.

“Gummy panties?” he repeats skeptically, examining the package.

“You know,” Newt says. He wiggles his eyebrows. “You can eat them off. It’s sexy.” Probably. Newt’s never tried them before. He’s never had someone he’d _want_ to eat underwear off of, before Hermann. Which is not exactly...a romantic thought?

Hermann glances at the clock hanging over their sink. “Well, we have three hours before we have to be on campus. Would you like to try them out now?”

 

The gummy panties feel weird. They’re like an elastic loincloth, except the cloth part is just a huge...gummy. Which was to be expected. Personally, Newt would’ve liked to eat them off Hermann, but Hermann claimed he’d already showered for the day and wasn’t in the mood to get all sticky. (They’re _gummies_ , Newt protested, but Hermann still resisted.) But: Hermann between his thighs, no matter the circumstances, is always very, very hot, and especially now, since he hasn’t bothered to remove his little librarian glasses first.

“So I just…?” Hermann runs his fingertip over the weird little pouch, and Newt shivers a little.

“Just eat them,” Newt says, spreading his thighs. “Go for it.”

Hermann leans up and licks a stripe up the crotch, and then immediately makes a face. “They’re sour,” he says. “I don’t like sour candies.”

“Dude,” Newt says.

Hermann glares, but he lowers his head once more. This time, he nips at the candy and squints at it, before confidently declaring “It’s cherry-flavored.”

“ _Dude_ ,” Newt says, because usually, it’s him who gets distracted every five minutes during sex.

Hermann gives up halfway through the gummy panties (“I’m far too full,” he claims, and Newt’s not complaining, because watching Hermann make disgusted faces and chew wasn’t very sexy) and just tears them off Newt to blow him instead. It’s a little sticky—Hermann was right—but hell if those wide lips wrapped around his dick don’t do Newt in in a matter of seconds.

Day 2 should be better.

 

* * *

 

“A penis extender,” Newt says, holding out the small, clear sheath in mild skepticism. “Hey, listen to this.” He holds out the card that came with the toy. “‘Enjoy the thrill of becoming a sex toy.’ Oh, boy, Hermann, it’s what we’ve always wanted!”

“Can’t be too much different than that one you bought last Halloween, can it?” Hermann says, swiping it from him. Newt smiles a little at the memory: the tentacle dick sheath had been _great_. Now he wishes he’d looked a little harder for different advent calendars. Bad Dragon might’ve had one, which would’ve been way better than this shit. This sheath is pretty normal looking. Aside from little nubs on the sides, it looks like all it really does it elongate the head an inch or two, but Hermann’s already a length that Newt loves. He takes it back.

“Want me to use it on you?” he says, waving it around. After a long moment, Hermann nods.

Hermann’s always a little bossy when Newt tops, always orders him through it all ( _too fast_ , or _not fast enough_ , _more fingers_ and _fuck me now_ and _no, not like that_ ), and it’s no different tonight. Even with his ass in the air and his face buried in the pillow, he still finds ways to complain about how Newt is doing everything _wrong_. “You’re not curling your fingers right,” he says, muffled. “Do it a little harder.” Newt rolls his eyes and crooks one finger; Hermann huffs and lifts his head to scowl back at him. “ _No_ ,” he snaps. “Not like that, either. Heavens, Newton, two decades and you can't even—”

“Jesus, dude,” Newt says, scowling back. “Finger _yourself_ if you’re going to be this much of an asshole about it.” He pushes his fingers into Hermann hard, rubs at his prostate, and a look of bliss crosses Hermann’s face. He goes boneless back against the sheets and moans into the pillow.

“Like _that_ ,” he says.

Newt slips the sheath on and loops the end around his balls with a little bit of lube (the inside is textured too, thank God, and _thin_ , like he’s just wearing a weird condom, so he won’t go soft like he was worrying), then uses more on the outside before gathering Hermann up in his arms and pushing into him with one little shove. Hermann is always bossy, and always _impatient—_ he doesn’t like that much of a build up. Just wants Newt to start going immediately and not stop until he’s come. It’s a little harder with the sheath, though, there’s a little bit more resistance, he's gotta push a little harder, and Newt rips a deep, guttural moan from Hermann when he bottoms out. That’s the other thing: Hermann always sounds like a porn star when Newt tops, too. “How’s it feel, honey?” Newt says, reaching around and taking Hermann’s dick in his hand. Hermann’s rock-hard and leaking like crazy already.

“Strange,” Hermann says. “Very—bumpy.” Newt grinds into him a little, and Hermann whimpers and clutches the sheets. “It’s, er—it’s big, too. _Wide_.”

“Finally,” Newt pants, “I can enjoy the thrill of being a sex toy,” and starts fucking Hermann in earnest.

It’s the fastest Hermann’s ever unraveled, the most insatiable Newt’s ever seen him. He whines, and he begs, and he humps the bed and pushes back at Newt’s dick and shouts for him to go harder, _harder_ , and Newt barely has to jerk him off before he jizzes all over their sheets. Even then, he begs for Newt to keep going, hooking the ankle of his good leg back over Newt’s thigh and urging him on. “Jesus,” Newt pants, orgasm building, slamming into Hermann’s flat, bony (but cute!) ass, “fuck, Hermann, okay, I gotta—I gotta take this thing off—”

He jizzes a little bit in the sheath, which is gross and makes him feel like he’s stuck his dick in wet plastic or something (which, technically, he did, except the plastic is dick-shaped), but manages to slip it off in time to finish his orgasm on Hermann’s back. They’ll clean the sheath out tomorrow.

“Winner?” Newt says, slumped on the pillows next to Hermann. He elbows Hermann’s side.

“Winner,” Hermann croaks out. “Yes, that was—yes. Well done, Newton.”

“I’ll try not to take it too personally that my normal dick isn’t good enough for you.”

“Oh, darling,” Hermann says, twisting around on his side and looking genuinely concerned. “That isn’t _at all_ what—”

“Kidding!” Newt says. “Kidding.” He looks fondly at the little dick sheath on the floor. “No, we’re saving that one.”

 

* * *

 

“These are just Pop Rocks,” Hermann says.

“They’re _BJ Blast Oral Candy_ ,” Newt says.

“They’re Pop Rocks,” Hermann says.

“They’re Pop Rocks,” Newt agrees. He’s laying between Hermann’s splayed legs, Hermann nude from the waist down, and together they stare at the little pouch of Not-Pop Rocks. They’re peppermint flavored. Festive. “This will probably feel weird as hell,” Newt declares, and rips open the packet and pours them into his mouth. They fizz, like Pop Rocks, and pop, like Pop Rocks, and generally have all the qualities that Pop Rocks have. He gives Hermann a thumbs up before unceremoniously swallowing down his dick.

Hermann gives a little shout.

“Mmphph?” Newt says.

“It’s—strange,” Hermann gasps.

Newt hums around Hermann’s dick, feeling the candy fizzle and pop in his mouth and wondering what it must be like for Hermann. It’s...not exactly pleasant, on Newt’s end. It’s intense on his tongue, and not in a sexy way, and the peppermint taste is _very_ strong. Strong enough to mask the taste of Hermann entirely. Nevertheless, he’s kinda curious. Maybe he could convince Hermann to go down on him with them next.

“Okay,” Hermann says after only five minutes; he’s quickly going soft in Newt’s mouth, despite all of Newt’s rapid, frantic bobbing up and down, his clever twists of his tongue, his little strokes at Hermann's balls, all the stuff that usually works on Hermann. Hermann tugs gently at his hair. “Enough, I think, please.”

Newt pops off and immediately spits the candy out onto the carpet (as Hermann makes a noise that’s a cross between dismay and disgust—they’ve only just gotten their floors redone). “That was _gross_ ,” he says, wiping his mouth off on the back of his hand. His spit is sticky. Not in the sexy way, either. Hermann’s completely soft at this point, and—wincing—he bundles up a corner of the sheets to wipe off his vaguely pink-saliva-wet dick. “Want me to try again?” Newt says, when his tongue’s stopped tingling and Hermann’s dropped the sheet.

Mild panic flits across Hermann’s face. “Er. Perhaps if you brush your teeth first, love—”

  

* * *

 

There’s something called a tickler on the fourth, and it’s literally just a bit of a feather on the end of a stick. It looks like a cat toy. Newt’s actually pretty sure it _is_ a cat toy. “Maybe we can reuse this for Jeff,” he says, Jeff being the obese one-eyed tabby cat that hangs around their fire escape every evening at five-thirty exactly and meows loudly until one of them gives it food. (Not cat food, either, only people food—Hermann made the mistake once of buying it a whole bag of some bougie gourmet stuff that definitely came highly recommended on bougie pet blogs, and Jeff knocked the bowl over the ledge while making direct eye contact with him.) It’s not technically their cat, nor is its name technically Jeff, and Newt’s pretty sure it’s so fat because it suckers _all_ the neighbors in their apartment complex into giving it food, but god damn if they don’t spoil the bastard anyway.

“Please don’t talk about our cat in the bedroom,” Hermann says.

“Jeff’s not our cat,” Newt points out, and Hermann kicks his knee gently. “Ow. Okay.”

Newt pulls off the piece of protective plastic that comes wrapped around the feathery end and then dangles The Tickler over Hermann’s body. “How is this supposed to be sexy?” he says. “Are tickling fetishes a thing?” Newt hates being tickled. He's pretty sure Hermann does too.

Hermann is watching the feather very, very warily. “How am I supposed to know?”

“Maybe if I—” Newt brushes the feather over Hermann’s pecs lightly, just over his nipples, and Hermann seizes up immediately. Newt snatches the toy away quickly. “Bad?”

“No,” Hermann says, voice oddly strangled. “That wasn’t...Do it again.”

Newt grins, and brushes the feather over Hermann’s nipples again. They stiffen quickly; Newt loves how sensitive they always are.

“ _Oh_ ,” Hermann sighs, eyes flickering shut. “That’s _very_ good, Newton.”

Newt drags the feather in little circles over them, around them, down along the crest between his pecs (Hermann has nice pecs) and back up teasingly, all while Hermann moans and gasps softly. His dick is starting to stand to attention—Newt can see it tenting the front of his briefs. “Let’s take care of that, honey,” Newt coos, and then brushes the feather over the bulging fabric. Hermann moans a little louder and nods.

Newt pulls off the briefs and tosses them aside. He has a plan (a sexy plan) that consists of _sloooowly_ dragging the feather—better name, but not by much, calling it _The Tickler_ makes him feel like a mad scientist in a Bond movie (do you expect me to talk? no, Mr. Bond, I expect you to laugh, that’s a bad joke, Hermann would groan)—over Hermann’s nipples and down his torso until he _sloooowly_ grazes his dick with it, but unfortunately, Newt forgets how ticklish Hermann’s abdomen is.

And just how sharp Hermann’s knees are.

 

Hermann, at least, is very apologetic later, keeps bringing Newt bags of ice and fluttering over him anxiously as Newt dabs at his furiously-bleeding and stinging nose. Their bedsheets—classy Egyptian cotton that Hermann insisted upon, only the best for his bony body—are definitely ruined. The verdict’s still out on Newt’s poor, vintage Godzilla shirt, currently tumbling in the washer on Cold with half a bottle of stain remover. “I’m so _sorry_ ,” Hermann says, miserably, for the fiftieth time.

“Babe, it’s _fine_ ,” Newt says, nasally, for the fiftieth time. “Seriously. It’s my fault. I should’ve known that you’d—” _Reflexively knee me in the face_ hangs awkward and heavy in the air between them; Hermann looks at the ground, bright red, and guilt surges in Newt’s chest. “Hey,” he says, “this ain’t my first rodeo. Do you know how many times I’ve broken my nose? And in sexy-injuries at that?” (One time back in Boston, at the spry young age of twenty-two, Newt ended up in the ER after his Grindr date got a little too enthusiastic and knocked Newt’s face into the wall. He wasn’t anywhere _nearly_ as courteous as Hermann, though, just panicked when he saw the blood, called 911, and fled.)

Unfortunately, the admission has the absolute opposite desired effect on Hermann: he pales immediately and says “Oh, _God_ , you don’t think it’s broken, do you?”

“Not the point!” Newt half-shouts. “Not what I was—!”

But Hermann’s yanking the tissue away from Newt’s face and squinting at the purpling bridge of his nose, eyebrows knitted together anxiously, and Newt gives himself over to his husband’s fussing with a little sigh.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t remotely trust you with handcuffs,” Hermann says.

“ _Ye of little faith_ ,” Newt says. He swings the fluffy red handcuffs around the tip of his finger and scoots towards where Hermann sits, arms crossed, on the bed. “Come on, baby, why not?”

Hermann stares at him.

“Oh,” Newt says. He might’ve— _once_ —lost the key when they experimented with handcuffs back in Hong Kong, and Hermann ended up attached to one of his ladder rungs for three hours until Newt—through a series of wacky, madcap hijinks that would definitely make for a good party-small talk story if it Hermann didn't slap his arm whenever he tried to tell it—managed to find a hacksaw not dripping in kaiju toxins. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Pentecost hadn’t stopped in for a surprise meeting halfway through and, no matter how strategically Newt placed himself at Hermann’s side (arm over Hermann’s shoulder companionably, angled just so that Hermann’s wrist was hidden, like they were just two bros having a good chat by a ladder), there was no way he didn’t see.

Newt tosses the handcuffs to the floor. “No handcuffs, then.”

“No handcuffs,” Hermann agrees

 

* * *

 

“I’m going to enjoy this one,” Hermann says, ominously calm, and Newt glances back over his shoulder at him with no small amount of fear. Today’s toy was a small whip—the kind made of small strips of fabric, and a hot pink, not an Indiana Jones style one, Newt wouldn’t let that within a mile radius of his bare ass unless Sexy Young Harrison Ford himself was wielding it, and even then he'd have some reservations. Hermann’s a hottie, but he’s no Young Harrison Ford.

“Should we have a safe word?” Newt squeaks. Safe, sane, and consensual, and everything. Even if he’s pretty sure the thing is made of felt and will probably feel like nothing more intense than that one time he and Hermann experimented with spanking.

“I think ‘stop’ is sufficient,” Hermann laughs. He drags the whip end over Newt’s ass, and Newt buries his face in his hands and whimpers a little. Hermann pauses. “Newton, I’m _only_ using this on you if you want me to. If you’re not enjoying yourself—”

“ _Please_ use it on me,” Newt says. “God. Seriously. I’m—” He shifts his hips up a little so Hermann can see his already-furious boner, and Hermann emits a small exclamation of surprise.

“Oh,” he says. “I see.”

Newt settles back down on the bedspread, watching Hermann over his shoulder. “So, Dr. Gottlieb,” he says. “You gonna punish me or what?”

Hermann punishes him with an enthusiasm unmatched by anything Newt’s ever seen before, save for maybe when he beats Newt at virtual Scrabble. He delivers blow after blow to Newt’s ass, alternating between cheeks, one time smacking directly down the middle (Newt had to start grinding his dick into the mattress, then, desperate for a little bit of friction), grunting out years on years worth of Newt’s transgressions all the while.

(“ _This_ is for leaving the empty milk carton in the fridge last week, _this_ is for breaking my favorite mug and lying about it—”

“That was twelve years ago!”)

By the end of it, Newt’s ass is bright red, his eyes are wet, the patch of bed beneath Newt’s dick is completely soaked with precome, and he’s paid for everything from that one time he spilled spaghetti down the front of Hermann’s borrowed sweater to when he accidentally erased all of Hermann’s _How It’s Made_ DVR recordings to every single organ he ever tossed over the yellow tape line in their Hong Kong lab. Hermann rubs over his stinging cheeks soothingly with one of his big, strong, hands, while Newt writhes and babbles gibberish into their pillows.

“You did excellently, Newton,” Hermann purrs, and then—still squeezing Newt’s ass—he takes Newt’s dick in his other hand and jerks him off lovingly.

 

“I’m sorry about the mug,” Newt says afterwards.

Hermann hums noncommittally. “It was twelve years ago,” he says, lips curling into a smirk. “You _really_ think I still care?”

“Jackass,” Newt laughs.

  

* * *

  

“Typically,” Hermann says, “isn’t the person on the bed supposed to wear the blindfold?”

“This is more fun,” Newt says, and then runs into the wall. “Fuck! Ow. Okay, I’m good. Marco!”

“Polo,” Hermann sighs, and Newt spins in the direction of his voice, arms stretched out in front of him to avoid anymore mishaps. He brushes his discarded t-shirt with the edge of his toes, so he knows he’s getting close. “Really, darling, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“Uh, really, babe, I _won’t_. Marco.”

A begrudging huff. “Polo.”

Newt trips over the t-shirt.

 

* * *

 

The day after the blindfold gives them something called a _penis stroker_. It looks like one of those weird, glittery squishy toys with the hollow center that Newt—as a child with rampantly untreated ADHD in need of constant stimulation—had a gazillion of when he was younger and used to squeeze until they popped. It’s even the same bright color that those toys used to be. The thought of fucking one is not remotely appealing. The thought of _Hermann_ fucking one in front of him is not remotely appealing, either, but Newt’s determined that one of them at least give it a shot.

“Newton,” Hermann says, after five minutes of some rather uninspired thrusting into the translucent blue sleeve, “I don’t like this.”

“Oh, thank God,” Newt says, having quickly realized cuckolding (pseudo or otherwise) was _not_ his thing.

They toss it aside, and Hermann puts his dick to much better use in Newt.

 

* * *

 

The butt plug is actually oddly cute. It’s red and almost in the shape of a heart, more Valentines-y than Christmas, which gives Newt hope that they’ll be reusing it come February. Because goddamn, does it feel good: they opened the panel at breakfast (as usual), and then Hermann swiftly and perfunctorily bent him over the kitchen counter, prepped him with their Emergency Kitchen Stash of lube (Hermann looks very cute in an apron, sometimes things progress _fast,_ you know), fucked him senseless, and then plugged up his own jizz in Newt with a little parting smack at his ass.

It’s the perfect day for a plug, actually; Hermann’s got a big university-hosted Department Holiday Luncheon over at a fancy joint downtown and spouses are heavily encouraged, and whereas before he and Newt were gonna muddle their way through polite small talk and pretending to be interested in people’s kids with a copious amount of free wine, now they have something a little more _exciting_ to pass the time with. So they finish breakfast like nothing happened (and like Newt wasn’t squirming in his seat and biting his lip every five seconds), they watch a little television together, they enjoy a little shower romp together (Hermann does his own sloppy seconds—which was, frankly, very, very hot and the memory of it is going to tide Newt over during Hermann’s out-of-state conferences for months to come—fills him up with Load Number Two, then plugs him back up), and then they get dressed up in their fancy best.

“You look wonderful,” Hermann tells him, hooking his cane over his arm so he can adjust Newt’s bow tie and attempt to smooth down his hair. He kisses him chastely when he’s done, but that, combined with the plug that Newt’s tight dress slacks are making him feel every inch of, is almost too much, and Newt clings to Hermann and whines a little as his dick stirs to life. Hermann laughs. Jackass. “It’s only three hours. You’ll survive.”

“Can we at least fuck in the bathroom?” Newt says.

Hermann pats his cheek. “Dirty thing,” he scolds fondly, but it’s not a no.

 

The luncheon is, predictably, boring, but it’s almost worth it for the way Hermann parades Newt around on his arm like he’s some sort of trophy husband (is Newt a trophy husband?) and introduces him each time with an enthusiastic “Ah! Have you met my young man, Newton?” (Newt learns, that night, that Hermann apparently never shuts up about him.)

“I think I’m a little too grey for that now,” Newt remarks later, grinning as they make a _severe_ dent in the bottle of wine that’s meant to be for the entire table. Hermann, the lightweight, is already a little tipsy, and he preens and pokes at Newt’s salt-and-pepper temples and strokes his hand down Newt's stubble with a horrendously sappy smile on his face.

“ _Distinguished_ ,” Hermann says. “You’re distinguished, my love, not grey.”

“Alright,” Newt says. “Too distinguished, then.”

“Regardless, you’ll always be my young man,” Hermann says, sappy smile growing (teeth flashing, eyes crinkling), and Newt blushes and his heart skips a beat. (They’ve been married for a _decade_ , damn it, why does he still act like a lovesick teenager around Hermann?) “My dear, handsome young Newton.” Hermann slips his hand overtop Newt’s knee, hidden by the tablecloth, and squeezes; Newt is suddenly reminded, with a full-force jolt of arousal, that he’s got a plug crammed up his ass.

“ _Hermann_ ,” Newt says, blush deepening as Hermann’s hand wanders further. “Jeez, dude, not—”

Hermann runs one long finger down the seam of Newt's pants. “I’m going to pour wine on your shirt,” he says, matter-of-factly, just loud enough for Newt to hear, “and then I’m going to do unspeakable things to you in the loo.”

“Okay! Cool,” Newt squeaks.

Hermann makes a grand show of reaching for a salt shaker and then—oh no!—accidentally knocking Newt’s glass of red wine over onto his nice, clean, white shirt, how terrible, how tragic, how dreadfully careless of Hermann, the least he can do is help his poor husband salvage the mess, could you please point them to the gents? thank you, wonderful.

It’s a single, to their mutual delight, no stalls, which means they’ll have relative privacy for their little romp. Newt really underestimated how horny Hermann was: he barely lets Newt lock the door before he’s backing him up against the wall, untucking Newt’s shirt, and tearing at the zipper of his slacks frantically. “I’ve been aching to ruin you all night,” Hermann breathes, splaying his fingers across Newt’s slightly-wine-damp chest. He’s tossed his cane aside with his own suit jacket, which means Newt’s bearing the full brunt of all his weight, but he doesn’t really mind. “Oh, _Newton_ , you haven’t the faintest idea what this suit does to me.”

“Well,” Newt says, “considering you just dumped wine all over it—”

“A necessary sacrifice,” Hermann says. “Turn around, if you will.”

Newt drops his slacks and boxers to his knees and Hermann presses up tight against his back, grinding his erection against Newt’s ass, against the little plug. Newt starts whining again before he can help himself. “Dude, please, can you just—”

He expected Hermann to tease him a little, fuck him with the plug a bit, maybe, make Newt beg for it, but he surprises Newt by pulling it out quickly and barely giving him time to react to the sudden _emptiness_ , to the sexy-filthy ooze of old come down his thighs, before he’s pushing into Newt with a satisfied grunt and a _wet_ sound. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” Newt near-wails into the cold tiling of the wall, feeling more come spill out around Hermann’s dick as Hermann starts to fuck into him, “oh, Jesus, Hermann, that’s fucking _dirty_ , God—”

Hermann slips a strong hand under Newt’s ruined dress shirt and thumbs over one of his nipples, panting harshly and heavily at the back of his neck. “ _You’re_ dirty,” he hisses, “sitting there like you didn’t have an arse full of—” Newt squeezes around him, and the rest of Hermann’s dirty talk is lost to a deep, guttural moan; he pistons his hips and plays with Newt’s nipples until he’s coming in Newt for a third time that day and Newt’s making a mess of the tiling.

 

“We should just sneak out,” Newt says into the wall.

“We'll be missed,” Hermann says. “We haven't been gone too—”

“It’s been half an hour, dude. There’s no possible way to save face here.”

Hermann kisses his neck. “It was a very persistent stain,” he murmurs, “and we’re very thorough men.”

“I’m about a hundred percent certain the entire restaurant heard us fucking,” Newt says. “Also, I’m kind of a mess.” His shirt’s wine-red and wrinkled and his jacket fares no better, his slacks are stained with several hour’s worth of jizz, and his hair is sticking straight up. Anyone who looks at him will know immediately what kind of shenanigans he and Hermann just got up to in here.

“I’ll call a cab,” Hermann mumbles against his neck, but he kisses it a few more times before he actually does anything of the sort.

 

“It was a very persistent stain,” Hermann recites to his colleagues when they finally right themselves, clean up the mess Newt made on the wall with wads of toilet paper, and shuffle, awkwardly, from the men’s room back to their table. None of Hermann's colleagues will meet their eyes. “Er. We’re going to go home, and—take care of it.”

“Nice meeting you all!” Newt says, and pushes Hermann away.

 

They realize in the cab ride they’ve swapped bow ties, but it’s nothing compared to when they get home and Hermann reaches into his pocket and says “Oh, _hell_ ,” and they realize they’ve left the butt plug in the bathroom. Valentine’s Day is out of the question, then, though Newt does debate calling the restaurant and asking the staff to hold on to it for them should it turn up.

 

* * *

 

“This feels somewhat anticlimactic,” Hermann says. “Stockings? Plain stockings?”

“Two pairs!” Newt says, waving them around. “His and his. And look, they’re not plain, they’re really cute.” He sticks his arm up to the elbow in one to show Hermann. In the packaging, they looked plain white, but on skin (and especially on skin as decorated and multi-colored as Newt’s) it’s clear that they’re actually mostly sheer and dotted with tiny, glittery snowflakes. They’re soft, too, very delicate. A lot nicer than the stuff Hermann usually trusses Newt up in is (but Hermann’s usually too preoccupied with ripping holes-slash-rubbing his dick all over them to care).

Hermann is pleasantly surprised, and he strokes his finger over the fabric. “Oh,” he says. “Those are—nice.” His pupils are blown already. (Hermann’s a horny old pervert when it comes to stuff like lingerie and lacy delicates, a fact which Newt never fails to exploit to their mutual satisfaction.) Newt tosses him the slightly smaller pair.

“For your hot supermodel gams,” he says, and pulls his arm from his own stocking to wag his finger at Hermann. “No peeking ‘til I’m ready.”

The stockings feel even nicer on them, look nicer, too, sort-of thigh-highs. They mostly just make out and rut against each other lazily in bed, the fabric _swish_ ing each time their legs brush. It’s a shame, really, that the stockings’ll probably be filthy beyond hope by the time they finish—Newt has a skirt that would look nice with them. “Still think it’s anti-climatic?” Newt gasps into the skin of Hermann’s throat, enjoying every little moan he inadvertently draws from Hermann when his dick catches on Newt’s lacy thigh.

“ _Ah_.” Hermann’s back arches from the sheets, his hair falling into his eyes, his mouth dropping open. “Ah, no, this is—ah, _yes_ , Newton—”

 

* * *

  

Not everything is a winner. Most things aren't, actually. There are sexy scratch cards (match a certain shape and you do the activity that corresponds with it) that they somehow can’t find a single coin to scratch off with. Nipple pasties in the shape of red hearts that are actually more like large, cheap stickers and hurt like a _bitch_ to peel off. (“How the fuck are these supposed to be sexy?” Newt says. “I feel like a scrapbook.”) Body chocolate that Newt, with his allergies, can’t have because it May Contain Nuts (which Newt makes no less than four jokes about, to the point that Hermann throws a pillow at his face). Non-adjustable bed restraints that they’re both too...well... _short_ for. (Their bed is very big.) Sexy dice that, for some reason, they only manage to roll stuff pertaining to their ears with, and after the third time Newt got instructed to give Hermann an _Ear Pat_ they call it a day and just have instruction-less sex. A baseless dildo they’re both too wary of to test out (Newt remembers all too well the time Hermann got a bullet vibe stuck up his ass and Newt was almost giggling to hard to help him take it out), a bullet vibe they are _definitely_ too wary to test out, a fluffy thong Newt rips in half trying to pull on seductively. They’re both too intimidated by the opaque pink anal beads to even figure out where to begin with them, and when Newt exclaims “They look like the pearls in boba tea!” any eroticism they may have once held is immediately lost. The vibrating massager works well, up until Newt realizes Hermann’s fallen asleep (with Newt about to start fingering him, at that), the ball gag even better, before Newt realizes—after Hermann’s been gone from the room for a suspicious twenty minutes _getting ready,_ wink wink, _stay right there, Newton_ —Hermann has no intention of fucking him and just wanted him to be quiet long enough for him to finish up a crossword puzzle.

 

* * *

 

“How are we meant to use these, then?” Hermann says, examining the over-the-door restraints skeptically. They’re padded, and unlike the bed restraints, adjustable. “I don’t imagine they’ll work well for us.” Newt figures he’s right: with Hermann’s arms tied up, Hermann won’t have his cane to shift his weight on and his leg will _definitely_ hurt like a bitch by the time they’re done. With Newt’s arms tied up, he won’t be there for Hermann to lean on when things start getting hot and heavy. Luckily, they’re both scientists. Solving problems is what they do.

Foreplay is obviously the best route here (and Newt’s had Bond on the mind for some weeks now), so he breaks out his wine-stained suit and slicks back his hair a little and informs Hermann that, tonight, he’ll be the devious Dr. Gottlieb intent on re-opening the Breach and destroying the world, while Newt—the sexy, dashing spy—has to stop him. But unfortunately…

“I’ve fallen right into your trap!” Newt exclaims, tugging fruitlessly at the door restraints as Hermann (trussed up in his wedding tux, agreed to only on the condition that Newt not get jizz anywhere near it, or he’ll foot the entire dry-cleaning bill himself) watches less-than-enthusiastically a few feet away. “You fiend! You monster! You won’t get away with this.” He pitches his hips forward; Hermann’s eyes go directly to his boner. “I won’t let you ravish my hot, helpless body.”

“I don’t believe I said anything about ravishment,” Hermann says. Newt stares long and hard at him; he relents, and slams his cane on the ground. Newt jumps. (Not entirely for show.) “I mean. We’ll, er, see about that, Dr. Geiszler,” he says. He takes a step towards Newt, and Newt writhes and tugs on the restraints some more. Hermann lowers his voice. “It seems you’re already finding me hard to resist.” He taps the end of his cane at the wall, just in the vee of Newt’s legs, and Newt spreads them, showing off his not-too-subtle boner.

“You _monster_ ,” Newt moans. “You’ve drugged me with—sex pollen, or something.”

“Mm, in your martini,” Hermann says, pressing their bodies together. He noses into the crook of Newt’s neck and drags the fingers of his free hand through Newt’s hair. It’s getting harder and harder for Newt to pretend like he’s not very turned on by this. “Not very astute for a spy, are you?”

“That’ll teach me to accept drinks from pretty faces,” Newt laments, straining to not buck against Hermann.

“You think I’m pretty, Dr. Geiszler?” Hermann murmurs. He gives Newt’s hair a sharp pull.

“That was the sex pollen talking,” Newt gasps. “Oh—ah—” Hermann’s braced himself against the wall with his left hand and is slowly slipping his right knee between Newt’s thighs, spreading them wider. Newt rubs against him needily, slacks pulling tight and hot and uncomfortable.

“You’re welcome to get yourself off,” Hermann says, in that same hot, low voice, staying absolutely still, and Newt tosses his head back and whines.

“Bastard,” he moans, twisting in the restraints, before giving in and riding and humping Hermann’s proffered leg furiously as Hermann sucks on his ear, “oh, fuck, I’ll, uh, I’ll stop you, you won’t—uh—”

“Good,” Hermann breathes encouragingly, all pretenses of the roleplay dropped, “you’re almost there, Newton.”

Newt’s vision goes a little fuzzy, and he shouts as he comes in his pants like he’s fucking eighteen again. Hermann, for all his sexy-coercing Newt into _doing_ it, immediately makes a face and pulls his leg away before Newt’s jizz can seep into his pants. “Lemme out,” Newt wheezes, straining and twisting at his confines again, too eager to make Hermann feel good to enjoy his afterglow, “so I can get you off, come on—” He pulls a little too hard on the restraints, and there’s suddenly a very worrying _snap_ ; a second later, he and the entire miniature harness system—broken clean in half—are crashing to the floor.

“Newton!”

A Hermann-shaped blur kneels heavily at his side. Has Newt lost his glasses? Yes, but Hermann jams them back onto his face, so it’s fine. “Are you hurt?” Hermann says. He frees Newt from the restraints and immediately starts massaging at his wrists, brings them up to his lips to kiss them.

“Uh,” Newt says, dazed from both his orgasm and the fall, but _very_ much liking what Hermann’s doing. “I’m fine. I’m good.”

 

Hermann disposes of the broken restraints with no small amount of relish, like they’d personally conspired to give out on his husband and make Newt look like an idiot or something (when, in actuality, Newt thinks his less-than-athletic lifestyle, combined with Hermann’s recently developed affinity for baking and their neglect to check the weight limit on the packaging is to blame). Fun while it lasted and all.

 

* * *

 

They’ve never tried flavored lube before—just haven’t felt the need for it—though they did try some novelty fake-kaiju blue stuff once during the war after Newt begged for weeks. Mostly for the sheer comedic factor of being able to call it _kaiju blube_ , which was why Hermann was so resistant. With how _bad_ the blowjob candy was, Newt’s not sure how peppermint lube is going to taste, but the bottle promises a mild tingling sensation in addition to its flavor that he think Hermann, at least, will enjoy. Still— “I feel like I’m about to shove toothpaste up your ass,” Newt tells Hermann.

He can’t see Hermann’s face, but Hermann makes a long, distressed noise into his pillow. “That’s disgusting.”

Newt grins, and uncaps the peppermint lube and takes a whiff. His eyes start to water. It’s strong. “ _Whew_.” He squirts some on his fingers. “Okay, big boy, get ready.”

Usually, when Newt goes down on Hermann, he does it like a man, organically, all spit, guns a-blazing, but tonight he uses two fingers to slick Hermann up with some of the gently-tingling peppermint lube before keeping him stretched open with those fingers. “How’s it feeling?” Newt says. He pulls his fingers out and blows a little cool air over Hermann, and Hermann’s hips twitch into the mattress. “Hopefully not like I’ve jammed toothpaste—”

“Do stop talking,” Hermann says.

Newt sticks his two fingers back into Hermann, spreading him back open, then puts his tongue to better use: he leans in and swipes it right between his fingers. He nearly recoils at the taste of peppermint, but Hermann makes such a wonderful sound that Newt can’t imagine it. “Good?” Newt murmurs. He grazes his teeth over one of Hermann’s cheeks, like he knows Hermann loves, and bites down a little, then repeats with the other one; Hermann whines and nods. Newt licks over his teeth marks and peppers them with a few little kisses before diving back in with gusto.

It’s really not that different from how Newt normally eats Hermann out, once he gets used to the peppermint, just a little bit slicker. Which makes it more exciting. And easier. He tongue-fucks Hermann hard and fast with no problem, blows cool air over his rim (the lube, he imagines, just making it feel _cooler_ ), and when Hermann’s breathy whimpers get louder (Hermann’s bossy when Newt fucks him, but when Newt just uses his tongue Hermann’s almost completely silent, like he’s too overwhelmed with pleasure he's forgotten how to speak), when he starts to grind into the sheets, Newt grips his cheeks firmly and spreads them apart to clamp his lips down on Hermann's spit-and-lube-wet hole and suck.

“ _Newton—_!” Hermann pushes back at his face, arching up from the bed, and Newt moans and spreads him wider, working his fingers back in and licking around them. “Ah— _oh_ —”

He drives his tongue back into Hermann over and over, jaw aching, drool running down his chin, and when his middle finger brushes deep Hermann gives a little shout and comes with one final thrust at the sheets. “Hermann,” Newt gasps, wiping off his face as Hermann pants in a boneless, chest-heaving heap, “uh, can I—”

Hermann moans weakly and nods; Newt rolls him over to his back, slicks a little bit of (peppermint) lube onto his own dick (it feels pretty fucking good), then quickly and efficiently fucks him through his own orgasm.

“That was great,”  Newt says afterwards. “That was— _wow_. Cool. That was awesome.” Hermann doesn’t say anything, because he’s already fallen asleep—Newt going down on him makes him exhausted, for some reason. It’s kinda cute, but Newt’s still a little disappointed, if only for the fact that they won’t be able to go for a round two now.

 

* * *

 

Hermann sleeps in late the next morning, so while Newt’s waiting for the coffee to finish brewing he decides to just open up today’s panel on his own. He’s not sure what it is at first—strappy, lacy, and decorated with a _massive_ bow all at once, and he’s half-worried it’s another thong or another edible pair of panties—but he’s delighted to realize it’s crotchless underwear. This is familiar territory. They’ve tread here before. Newt's ridden Hermann's dick in plenty of these before. He strips out of his sweatpants and t-shirt in the middle of the kitchen and slips them on instead (they’re a little tight, probably meant for someone with significantly less ass than him, but he’ll manage) and decides to seduce Hermann awake instead of bothering with the coffee.

Hermann takes enthusiastically to the seduction, once he gets over his initial where am I-what’s happening-who are you just-woken-up-confusion, and it does not take long before he’s fishing lube out from the bedside table, spooning Newt from behind, and fucking between his thighs languidly. It’s slow and teasing and maddeningly hot, everything somehow amplified by just the absence of a little bit of fabric where there should be some: the drag over his hole, his balls, the soft, sensitive creases of his inner thighs (all on full display with the cut of the underwear), the way he reaches around and pinches and tugs at Newt’s nipples, his breathy noises of pleasure over the shell of Newt’s ear. Hermann’s really affectionate when he’s sleepy—calls Newt my love, my dear, sweet man (Newt’s favorite)—and he’s also really affectionate when he’s _horny,_ so Newt’s being slammed with a lethal double dosage of amorous, doting husband.

“This is sweet,” Hermann says, lowering his hand to tug at the little bow at the front of the panties. “You’re all—ah—” (Newt rocked back against him) “—wrapped up for me. Like a little gift.”

“We could try that,” Newt pants. “That bondage shit with the fancy knots, I mean. If you want.”

“Maybe,” Hermann says. “But I rather think it’s the bow I’m fond of.” He toys at it again, and Newt feels his lips curl into an amused little grin at the back of his neck.

 

* * *

 

Newt’s actually surprised that Hermann didn’t bail out halfway through, but here they are, December 25th, one final panel left to finish the calendar off. The grand finale. “Hermann,” Newt says, solemnly, as Hermann sleepily adds a liberal amount of brown sugar to his oatmeal, “it’s been an honor.” He opens it up.

Hermann peers around him. “ _Oh_ ,” he says.

It’s fitting they get to round it out with a bang—Hermann’s raging lingerie kink being seen to once more. It’s a red babydoll negligee, trimmed with white fluff, with a fake belt around the middle and a Santa Claus hat, and to Newt’s delight, it fits him perfectly. (No stockings or underwear to match, unfortunately, but that just means _easy access_ for Hermann.) Newt breaks it in by curling up in Hermann’s lap once they've relocated to the bedroom and immediately dragging Hermann’s hands under the sheer fabric and over his stomach. “I’ve been _naughty_ this year,” Newt purrs. “ _So_ naughty.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Hermann says, but he gazes at Newt with dark eyes and his tongue darts out over his lower lip, and he takes hold of Newt's love handles. “Shouldn’t I be the one—?”

“Who gives a shit?” Newt says. Hermann concedes and slides his hands up further, starts rolling the pads of his thumbs over Newt’s nipples, ghosting his lips over the skin behind Newt’s ear. “That’s nice,” Newt gasps. “That’s good, Hermann, keep—uh—” He rolls his hips down and adds in the same low, sultry purr, “You got a nice big candy cane I can suck on?”

Hermann rocks up against him, moan rumbling against Newt’s skin. “Oh—yes—”

Emboldened, and horny, Newt—perhaps regrettably—continues, “I’m your ho ho ho, baby.”

It pulls the opposite reaction of what Newt was hoping for from Hermann, who bursts into uncontrollable, wheezing, full-body giggles and effectively murders the entire mood. “No?” Newt says, once Hermann calms down. “Not sexy?”

Hermann shakes his head.

Newt rips off the Santa hat. “Yeah, I’m not feeling it either,” he says, and then pushes Hermann onto the bed to cut right to the chase.

 

“So?” Newt says later as they come down together, sweating and breathing hard, the negligee—unfortunately—as ruined as the snowflake stockings and bow panties. And his poor suit. What did Hermann say? They perished for a noble cause. “Good? Success? Would buy again?”

“It wasn’t entirely unpleasant,” Hermann says, which, from him, is a rousing endorsement. He smiles and laces their fingers together. “But it wouldn't have been half as fun without the perfect partner.”

“You cornball,” Newt says gleefully.

**Author's Note:**

> find me at my usual spots: hermanngaylieb on twitter, hermannsthumb on tumblr (where i frequently post ficlets). and happy holidays lol!


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